


Lava Quod Est Sordium

by Liver_Transplant



Series: Supernatural stuff [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Case Fic, Drugged Dean Winchester, Drugged Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, Nightmares, Other, Protective Dean Winchester, Roadtrip, Soft Sam Winchester, Tag As I Go, these boys need help, unexpected hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liver_Transplant/pseuds/Liver_Transplant
Summary: Somewhere between one place and another, the Winchesters boys stumble along a hunt, only to find out they're the ones being hunted. Angsty reminiscing and brotherly squabbles ensue.[On indefinite hiatus as of 9.2.20)





	1. I Walk The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Man oh man, this is my first fan fiction. I wrote it sometime this summer and never got around to posting it for reasons I don't remember, but it's better late then never. This whole thing actually started out as a joke fic, but as I found out the hard way, I can't write humor for shit. These boys wont let me write them happy. Anyways, thanks for joining me on this journey young Padawans, and please give me some feedback so I can improve even more.

It had all started like any other day for the Winchester brothers: wake up at the crack of dawn, eat breakfast, pack, and move on to the next job, with only the open road and each other for company. But oh boy, had it gone so horribly wrong faster than you can say ‘son of a bitch’. 

_ 26 hours ago _

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam glanced over at the driver's side window, craning his head until he could see his brother, who had just stood up and was now kicking the tire. The tire that was supposed to be on the car by now. 

“Dude, how hard is it to change a tire?” Sam asked, like a shit. 

“Bitch,” came a muffled reply from Dean as he opened Baby’s back door and leaned down to grab some tools from the back seat. “I thought I would be done by now, but it looks like when dad was putting in the hidden compartment in the trunk he took out the factory bumper jack.” Dean glared at Sam, who was laying back languidly in the front seat, long moose legs perched on the dash. 

Dean reached forward and slapped the back of Sam’s head. “Ouch, Dean that hurt,” Sam huffed as he rubbed the back of his head indignantly. 

Dean just scowled in response, “Man, what did I tell you about putting your shoes on the freaking dash.” Instead of responding verbally, Sam scrunched his face up and stuck his tongue out, provoking the older of the siblings to lunge and noogie him. After a few minutes of ruckus play fighting bordering on an actual brawl, they both lay back panting, clothing askew and hair even messier.

Dean was the first to break the silence, “We’re going to have to find a place to stay in town overnight. We can get Baby towed.” 

Sam looked over at his brother before whining, “But the nearest town is Bison, and even that's over forty miles away. Dean, we’re nowhere near any form of civilization except some backwater town in the opposite direction of where we came from.” Dean just sighed, not bothering to respond to Sam’s sound reasoning. They stay there, letting the silence lapse between them for a long while before Dean makes a move to sit up. He issues a loud grunt which made Sam chuckle and exits the vehicle, stretching once he’s out. 

From his place in the car, Sam heard Dean opening the trunk and rifling around for something, probably a beer. A loud pshhhhh sound makes itself known. Yep, definitely a beer, Sam thought to himself. Finally sitting up, he felt the muscles in his back tighten. If he feels this tight after a nap in Baby, how the heck does Dean feel? He righted the seat to its normal position, leaned back into the warm leather, and closed his eyes. Out of nowhere, a cold object is pressed against his neck, making him jump.

“-sHiT dEAN,” He sputtered, turning towards the open window, outside of which Dean was keeled over, silent laughs racking his body. “Oh yeah. Very funny Dean, laugh all you want. I will get my revenge,” He half-shouted as he speedily exited the car into the inhumanly hot dessert. 

“Sure you will. Man, you should’ve seen your face.” Dean replied, giggles still racking his frame. Sam stared daggers at his brother, who looked up and only laughed harder. Eventually, Dean sighed and stood up straight, mussing up his hair with one hand, and holding the two beers with the other. Sam reached forward, taking an unopened beer, popping off the cap as he went, and brought it to his lips. He took a long swig, letting the cold refreshing drink slide down his throat. Damn, he must have been thirsty. 

By the time Sam opened his eyes, Dean was wandering around the perimeter of the car, hand raised in the air holding his old flip phone out like Freddie Mercury. 

“Dean, what are you doing?” He questioned, screwing up his face. 

Dean just grunted and started climbing on top of Baby, hand still raised above his head, “I am,” he turned slowly in a three-sixty movement, intently watching the phone, “_ Trying _to get some sort of service.” Frowning at the offending phone, he brought it down and took a long sip from the beer still in his other hand. “Outta luck Sammy.”

“What do we do now? Hitch a ride? Last time I tried that, we met Meg, and you and I both know that wasn't anyone's idea of a good time.” Sam searched Dean’s face, looking for another option, but Dean was just as clueless as he was. 

Dean was silent for a long while before answering, “We could always call Bobby, but he’s at least six hours away from here and I’m not about to make the man drive twelve hours here and back just to tow us forty minutes. Plus no service.” They sighed in tandem, they were back to where they started and they both knew it.

“Hitchhiking it is,” Dean lamented and took a final chug, peering into the now empty bottle, pausing only an instant before chucking it over his shoulder. Sam scowled at him, giving him one of his patented bitch faces. The older Winchester smirked back, which only caused Sam’s bitchface to intensify.

* * *

An hour later they were still where they’d started, with little to do but nap and clean weapons. Dean had made it about five minutes before he declared he was bored and started doing anything but relax, looking over Baby’s engine until Sam was sure there would never be any problems with her ever again, disassembling and reassembling all of their guns, and just muttering absently under his breath. Finally, Sam couldn't take it anymore. He sat up from where he was trying to sleep, stepped out of the car, walked over to Dean, and gave him a hard smack on the back of the head. 

Dean spun on him, looking indigent and not_ at all pissed_. Whatsoever. “Dude, what the fuck??” Sam made a very unpleasant face that would attract all the ladies, which looked somewhat like an angry camel. 

“Dean, I have been trying to sleep for over an hour now, and let me just tell you that's it’s really hard to do so when you won’t shut the fuck up.” His voice was calm, but oh boy his face was not. 

“Well next time how about you start with that?” Dean had a less successful time at controlling his tone, his voice going down an octave. He grimaced and grumbled as he walked around Baby to the seat Sam was previously inhabiting. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam retaliated, a small smile forming on his face. “I’ll tell you if anybody stops.” At that Dean stayed nonvocal, instead choosing to express his feelings by a rude gesture in Sam’s direction. Not too soon after that interaction, Sam heard a faint snoring sound coming from the front seat. He wandered over and watched his brother, out like a light, sleeping laid back with his head resting on his arm. Sam knew his brother didn’t like ‘chick flick moments’ as he put it, but Sam wasn’t stupid by any means. He knew something was up. Sam released a breath and looked over at the wide expanse of desert surrounding them, acknowledging for the first time that the sun was starting to set. Clouds had appeared along the horizon, signaling summer rains. The temperature was still relatively high, somewhere in the high 70’s, but it was starting to get colder nonetheless. 

By the time Sam looked back over, Dean had turned in his sleep and was muttering to himself. The younger Winchester was struck with a pang of sadness and pity for his brother, who shouldered too much for one so young, not that he’d ever tell him that. Gosh, he sounded old, and just the thought of himself as a grumpy old man made him chuckle. Dean mumbling in his sleep again caught his attention, and he looks around the back of the car for something. When he finds it, he gathers it into his arms and drapes the blanket over his brother, who stops murmuring immediately, cozying up to the soft fabric. 

Sam grins and grabs another coat for himself, shutting the car door silently and making his way around to the driver's side door. He leans up against Baby, being careful to avoid scratching her paint with the clasp-like button things on his jeans. From where he sits, he can see the expanse of the highway they were forced to pull over on hours ago when Dean could no longer drive. At the time (before they were forced to make a little pit stop) they had thought it was just that something had come loose, but boy oh boy did they underestimate the issue. Around half an hour later whilst the boys were speeding down the highway, the slight rattling had gone from an inconvenience to something going wrong. 

See, what they’d failed to remember was that yesterday, when they had to stop at a shop to repair a flat, a sixteen-year-old, had done the job. Not well, either. The boy had forgotten to tighten the lugs in the front left tire down, and that day, driving at high speeds for hours, Dean had inadvertently finished the job of not so eloquently removing them.

So, going a whopping 98 mph, the wheel, which had been slowly getting looser, had finally given up its relationship with the axle and promptly fell off, much to the surprise of Sam and Dean.

In normal circumstances, it would have been an easy fix, just jack up the car, find the lugs (which were now spread across the highway’s tarmac, having fallen off the tire as it spun at high speeds), and put them, and the tire, of course, back on. All in all, maybe a two-hour job. 

But that was before they found out the hard way that they had forgotten their jack at Bobby’s, which was too far away to swing by and nab. So no jack, no spare lugs, and no way of fixing the car without new parts. Just great. According to Dean, if they had taken a lug off of each of the other tires, they could have used those in replacement for the ones that Dean couldn't locate. But again, they needed a jack. Oh! And on top of all that, Baby needed a very specific type of jack, which was huge and cumbersome, and part of the reason they had ‘forgotten’ it at Bobby’s. Just their luck. Caught up in his thoughts, Sam didn't notice when an old pickup truck pulled up beside them, the driver rolling down their window until Sam could make out a face. The figure in the car was an older gentleman, with graying hair and a thin frame. 

“You boys need a ride?” He asked, looking from Sam to Dean, who was still sleeping in the car. The old dude didn't look like a threat, but then again neither did Meg. Sam paused a moment to think before responding. His eyes seem kind, Sam thought. He decides to go out on a whim and trust the guy. There's a weird little tweak in his gut as he answered, but in true Winchester fashion, he ignored it. 

“Yeah actually, that would be awesome sir.” He let loose the signature Winchester grin, the kind that makes ladies swoon, but with a little helpless puppy dog added in for extra appeal. The old man's eyes soften a fraction before he spoke again. 

“I’m just going into town, there’s a mechanic where you can get your car fixed and a 24-hour motel,” He glanced down at his dash, which has a comically large alarm clock in place of one installed in the vehicle itself. “Shuck's kiddo, it's almost midnight, we better get going.” 

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and said back, “just give me a sec to grab my brother and some stuff out of the car. Thanks.”

The older man just smiles, his crows' feet wrinkling at the movement. Sam walked back over to Baby, the sound of the man’s truck misfiring every few minutes in the background. He searches around in the backseat, grabbing his and Dean’s overnight bags. The rustling sound wakes Dean from his slumber, and he stretches dramatically, groaning as he moves. He brings his hands to his face and sits there rubbing his eyes for a long moment before he senses Sam watching him. 

Turning to his brother, he asks, “How long was I out?” 

Sam just continues packing his stuff, only answering after he’s done, “Get up, we’ve got a ride.” Dean blinked slowly, his brain still trying to wake up and failing miserably. 

“Come on Dean, the guy’s waiting.” Dean finally gets it into his head that he should be moving, but when he tries to get up his legs get tangled in the blanket that’s half pooled around his lower body, causing him to half step, half fall out of Baby, muttering a string of obscenities as he goes. Sam chuckled a little under his breath, and then follows his brother’s example, almost tripping himself on the way out. 

When Sam steps out, Dean is patting his coat, presumably looking for his keys. Sam sighed and made a halfhearted attempt to get Dean’s attention, “Here.” Sam tossed the keys to Dean, who caught them easily. They lock up Baby, get their stuff together (stuff including some fake IDs, badges, maybe a shotgun or two, ya know, just in case) and walk over to the pickup. 

Cheery Guy, as Sam has decided to call him, is still waiting patiently with the windows rolled down. Sam gets in first, giving Dean the option to lean against the window in case he’s still tired. There are no seatbelts in the truck, and the seats themselves sag when they sit. Sam has to position himself awkwardly to fit his tree trunks in the car, which makes Dean release a sleepy giggle. Cheery Guy puts the car in gear, rolling back onto the main road where he evens out to a steady forty miles per hour. 

The silence in the vehicle is relatively comfortable, if not a little tense, and at this point Dean is too tired to do anything other than dozing off, putting total trust in Sam’s judgment of Cheery Guy. The only sounds in the car are the rushing of the old guys’ open window, the motor, Dean’s soft snores, and old guy himself, who has started humming to himself. 

The ride goes by slowly, time seeming to stretch out and morph into something new altogether. The darkness that was creeping in above the horizon has now consumed what was left of the light, leaving only the stars and moon to light the road ahead. Sam starts trying to identify the constellations, but none of his knowledge covers these particular stars. Sighing, he goes back to gazing absently at nothing and everything at the same time. 

Finally, they take a right off the highway to a road leading into town. Cheery Guy drives down Mainstreet, taking a left at Virgineum street onto another smaller street. The old man then pulls into a parking lot of an old motel that looks as if it hasn't had a customer in ages. He parks and shuts off the engine, letting it cool slightly. Then Cheery Guy turns to Sam, a strange smile that makes Sam’s skin crawl plastering his face, and speaks. “Here we are kiddo, mechanic’s not going to be open ‘till tomorrow evening at the earliest. Good luck boys.” 

Sam shivers slightly, forcing a grin back at the man before replying, “Thank you again, sir. Goodnight.” He turns to gently wake Dean, who just grunts tiredly. “We’re here Dean, time to go and get you into a real bed.” Dean moves, getting up and out of the truck, slowly blinking again before reaching in the truck bed and grabbing their stuff. Sam shuffles out after him and swiftly walks over to the fluorescent lights of the motel entrance. Dean follows behind, looking more awake with each passing second. As Dean holds the door open for Sam, he glances over at the old guy who just drove them there. He’s still sitting in his pickup, car off, watching them. 

Dean gives him a little wave, and the guy looks away, starts up his truck and drives off, leaving Dean with a weird feeling. Sam calls out to him, and he follows his sibling reluctantly, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

As Sam signs them in with the lady at the front desk, Dean shoots a quick look out at the now vacant lot, which causes the weird feeling to well back up again, where it persists. Dean, of course, being exhausted and a Winchester, buries the strange emotion to deal with later. 

They make it to their room, set down their stuff, and do a quick preliminary check of the room, setting up the salt by the windows and strategically place weapons throughout the room. Dean steps over to the door quickly locked it and peeked through the blinds. Part of him just wants to fucking sleep, but the other part of him, the part that’s been ingrained in him by almost every word their father has said to him, that part that screams_ protectsammyprotectsammyprotectsammy _\- that part of him feels uneasy. Something's not right and he knows it. He slowly closes the blinds and turns to see Sam’s already passed out on one of the beds, snoring like the great big moose he is. 

Standing there watching Sam sleep makes him realize how out of it he’s been. The past few days they’ve been driving day in and day out, and even when they’ve stopped, Dean hasn’t been sleeping. There are too many memories that keep him up at night, too many nightmares. Dean sighed, pushing down another stream of emotions he’s too sleep-deprived to deal with and makes his way into the bathroom.

He stands in front of the mirror and stares at his face. His tired eyes travel across his cheeks and nose, finally settling on his eyes. The area surrounding them has deep bags that are not attractive whatsoever, and his eyes themselves are so soul wrenchingly hurt that he has to look away. Letting loose one more long sigh, he turns on the sink and splashes warm water onto his face, letting the water drip down his chin and onto his chest. Quickly and smoothly he wipes the liquid off his face. A small, sad smile crosses his face when he remembers what Sammy said about him brushing his teeth. 

Following that train of thought, he finds himself searching through his overnight bag, looking for the dollar store toiletries he’d picked up the morning before. Sam makes a slight coughing noise in his sleep that momentarily makes Dean thinks he’s woken him. Alas, Sammy snores on, not even noticing the creaking of the floorboards as Dean makes his way back to the bathroom. 

He brushes his teeth quietly, knowing that although Sam slept like a freaking log, he should still be quiet. After he finishes he puts his stuff away, kicks off his boots, jacket, and pants, he slips under the covers of the other bed. He lays there, staring up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before he feels like he might be able to sleep. His mind wanders over the memories of his time in hell, Castiel, heck, even John. After everything they've been through, the thought of their dead father still sends him reeling, which is destined to lead him down the rabbit hole to a darker place. 

Before he can get any farther down that road, he makes himself turn to Sammy and think about him instead. Seeing him come home with A’s, and the surge of pride that came along with it. Flooded with an outpouring of recollections that he hadn't thought about in years, he drifts off, forgetting momentarily about the strange guy in the pickup or any of the horrifying flashbacks that plagued his waking and unconscious mind. For the moment, he is at peace. 


	2. Ain't No Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything is what it seems to be.

Sounds melded together, taking what would normally be simple background noise and turning it into something really hard to sleep through. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he was now awake. A loud bang from the other room followed by muffled cursing was the last straw, any semblance of tiredness promptly closing up shop and leaving his body. 

Dean peeked his head through the doorway of the bathroom, eyes scanning the room for Sam. He quickly found what he was looking for, in the inept form of his gangly brother who was groaning, buried under a pile of blankets. Chuckling, he leaned back into the smaller space, turning and crouching to clean up the mess he’d made on the floor when he dropped that hairdryer by accident. 

When he finished putting everything away, brushed his teeth and such, Dean wandered out into the main area of their motel room. Sam was still trying his darndest to retain his sleep, despite being awake. Dean smirked, swiftly making his way next to Sam’s bed and jumping on top of the mass he knew was his brother. 

An indignant and very surprised squawking came from the mass, making Dean smile as he joked, “Ya know Sammy, this wouldn't have happened if you had woken up at ass-o-clock like usual.” 

“DeAN. GeT. oFf.” Sam wheezed from under his brother. Dean may have been smaller, but he was definitely butch and built like a tank. 

Dean obliged, but not before shifting all of his weight on top of Sam’s chest, as if aware of Sam’s previous train of thought. 

Sam sat up, relieved to have the hundred and seventy-five pounds of an emotionally constipated man off of him. “What's the plan?” He inquired, stretching stiff muscles and groaning at a popping noise that emitted from somewhere along his back. 

Dean looked at him in a way that showed slight admiration to the trained eye, before remarking, “Food, Sammy. Food.” As if in agreement, Sam’s stomach decided that then was a good time to make itself known with a deafening growl that made Sam blush.

Dean got up, grabbed his coat and sidearm, and walked over to the door. He was about halfway through turning the doorknob and exiting the motel room when he released it and turned back to face Sam. He appeared worried, brows knitted and the soft lines that covered his face illustrated in the soft warm light of the old incandescent lighting that illuminated the room. 

He seemed reluctant to say anything, like there was something heavy weighing on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he seemed to go ‘screw it’ and was out with it, “Not sure how to say it but-” 

“There’s something abnormal going on here,” Sam interrupted, finishing the sentence. 

Dean blinked in surprise, before responding in kind, “So you noticed the weird shit to.” It wasn't a question. They knew each other well enough to tell when the other sensed something off, how else would they still be alive today? Sam was standing now, hair catawampus and dirty shirt half on, half off. Reaching into his duffel he pulled out a shirt and took off the one he was wearing in exchange for the clean article of clothing. 

While Sam was pulling on the unsoiled shirt, Dean took the movement as an opportunity to keep talking while his brother was paying attention, “I’m going to go out to the diner across the road and call the mechanic to tow Baby,” he repressed a shudder at the thought of a stranger touching his prized possession, “Do you want me to order you anything?”

Looking up towards Dean, Sam struggled to finish pulling on the slightly too small shirt over his big head. “I’ll have a cobb salad.” 

Dean looked disgusted, shaking his head in disappointment. “You’re nasty, man. I’ll never understand how you can stomach that rabbit food. Nasty.”

“Thanks for noticing, any other life-changing revelations you’d like to reveal to me?” Sam sassed back.

Dean snorted before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him as he went. He stood outside the door for only a moment longer, quietly chuckling to himself before walking down the path in front of the motel and crossing the parking lot. Standing at the edge of the sidewalk, he glanced back and forth anterior to crossing the road. 

Whilst he walked he took stock of the town. Even at eight-thirty, it’s a ghost town, businesses are closed and the people were nowhere to be seen. It was as if everything was asleep. Frowning slightly to himself, Dean stole the information away in his mind for a later time when he’d consumed that brown liquid that makes the world go ‘round. He unintentionally sped up his step incrementally until he was almost jogging, boots slapping the ground with the increased pace. 

By the time he’d reached his destination, his pulse has quickened to an alarming swiftness, heart palpitating aggressively. 

He reached forward for the door handle, heaving it open with a grunt of effort. He found himself immediately met by the rush of cool air and the familiar stench of fried food, accompanied by the tinkling of bells attached to the door. The cold gust dried the sheen of sweat that had developed on the foreboding man's brow, causing a gross layer of condensed moisture.

He surveyed the dinner, eyes scanning for signs of movement. When none were found he pivoted his back to the counter, instead watching the windows. 

“May I help you?”

Dean flinched, quickly turning on a dime to face the now occupied counter, hand discreetly resting on his firearm. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t see you when I came in.” He answered, visibly relaxing as he made eye contact with a short-haired woman in her late fifties. A smirk graced her sharp features. 

“Nay, that’s on me, dearie. I’m ‘fraid I scared ya with my sudden appearance. My Ex always said I was quiet as a mouse. You shan't a peep out’a me.” 

“I wasn't scared, just... Startled.” Dean remarked. 

She beamed, giving him a _ Sure you were sort_ of look before she bounced off, coming out from behind the counter, rag and a glass in hand to wipe down a table. She stopped at a corner booth with a good view of the restaurant, hastily cleaned off any old crumbs, set the glass down, and gestured to the seat. “What brings ya to Zeona? We never get visitors ‘ere,” she remarked.

Dean took up the invitation, bow legs bringing him over to the chosen seat and sat down. He sunk into the dinner bench, the seat giving out a bit under his weight.

“Car trouble.” 

The waiter kept up her smile, albeit a bit stiff now, as she introduced herself as Dorris, informing him that she would be his waiter today. He placed his and Sam’s orders and she walked off unhurried to fulfill them, leaving him alone. 

Dean stared, losing himself in the whir of the AC and the mundanity of ordering a salad. He was going to have to talk to Sam about that. 

He turned back into his surroundings, remembering one of the reasons he came here. Pulling out his phone, he dialed the number Sam got from ‘The Cheery Guy’ as he was now dubbed. A quick call later, he’d arranged to have Baby brought in and fixed. 

Just then Sam decided to make an appearance, apparently finished taking his sweet time. 

“Took you long enough.” Dean pointed out, giving Sam a sharp look. His younger brother just grunted, a very Dean esque move. He sipped his beer, thinking.“You good? Your acting like me, and even I don’t act like me. At least not lately.” He set down the bottle. 

Sam looked up, raising an eyebrow and giving Dean a patented bitch face before responding, “That doesn’t make sense Dean.” The two glared at each other, eventually sighing. Sam swirled the beer in Dean’s glass slowly, waiting for him to continue. 

“Baby should be ready by tomorrow. We’re lucky, small ass towns like this aren't busy so she’ll be done faster.” Dean threw his head back against the back of the bench, “I hate subjecting her to a stranger.” He looked up at Sammy, “You're quiet. Too quiet. It’s freaking me out, dude.” 

Sam scoffed, staring out the window, afore gradually returning his attention to his older brother who was watching him contemplatively. “This town is freaking me out. Where are the people? Why is everything in town closed except this flipping dinner, our motel and the mechanic’s shop? He leaned forward, causing the bench to squeak, which only added to the dramatics. 

At that moment Dorris chose to make a reappearance, food and another glass of water in hand. She set down the plates with a clunk, barely sloshing the water when it joined the salad next to Sam’s hand. She made her leave, briefly offering them coffee, which only Sam accepted. 

They ate in relative silence, save for the sounds coming from the kitchen and the crunch of Sam’s salad. Sam paused, fork halfway to his mouth, “Do you think there might be a case here?” 

Dean nodded, mouth still full, “Definitely. My spidey senses are tingling.”

“Ew. Wait until you’ve finished eating to respond.” The younger Winchester insisted.

Dean ignored him. “What's our play?”

Sam scrunched his nose, “We can’t do FBI, they already know were on a road trip.”

“Why not? FBI agents can take road trips. Are you discriminating against our boys in blue Sammy?” Dean teased. 

Sam exhaled in exasperation, already done with his brother, “Fine. FBI.” ducking his head, he grumbled under his breath something that sounded vaguely like they_ don’t even wear blue, _receiving a look from Dean.

They finished their meal swiftly, tipping Dorris with gambling money. The boys made their way back to the motel, feeling a great deal more relaxed in each others company than they did apart. By the time they’d arrived, it was just past noon, and the day had only now decided to warm up. 

Dean ended up trying to call Bobby for info on the area, but the line never went through. He frowned down at the insulting device, slapping it roughly against his palm as he turned to Sam, who was attempting to do some research. He wandered over to Sam, taking a seat beside him on the stiff motel bed, “We definitely have a case here. Plus I can’t call out of town at all, so that eliminates outside help.”

Sam shook his head, ruffling his locks. “No GPS either. I have no idea where the hell we are.” Sam replied, sounding tired. Dean grunted in response, flopping down on the bed like a swooning princess. He lay there for a moment, feeling like he was forgetting something. He tugged at the memory in the back of his mind, furrowing his brow in concentration. He felt it slip loose, making a little _ahHA noise_. 

“Zeona!” 

Sam squinted, confused. 

“The town. Dorris, our waiter from earlier told me we’re in Zeona. I must've forgotten.” He smirked, pleased with himself. Sam grinned at his brother's contagious glee, basking in the rare emotion. Sam then hunkered down to do some research, making half-hearted attempts to position the flat, hard pillows in a way that was remotely comfortable and remaining unsuccessful. Eventually, he gave up and buried himself in digging for clues. 

* * *

Two hours later, Sam sat up, stretching his stiff limbs. Dean was knocked out on his bed, breathing slowed in sleep. Sam nudged him in the side with his foot, stirring Dean from his nap. He awoke with a start, looking around disoriented for a moment, before remembering where he was. He groggily rubbed his face, making a quiet mumbling noise that sounded an awful lot like a curse.

Sam cleared his voice passive-aggressively, gaining the older Winchester’s attention, than speaking, “So get this, according to the internet, Zeona does not exist.”

Dean looked bewildered, “What? But we’re here.” 

“Yeah, that's why it’s weird. One website says Zeona has a population of two hundred, another says it was abandoned in 1983, and that's it. All I know for sure is that it was established in 1911. It doesn't even show up on maps.”

Dean contemplated what he just heard, shaking his head. 

“Sammy, we’re in a town that doesn't exist. That’s a first.”

Sam scoffed, “There’s no such thing.”

His brother raised his eyebrows dramatically, gesturing to the room around them as is to say, _Dude. We’re here. It's freaking here. _ What he actually said was, “We need a game plan. I’m thinking we go door to door, ask about, see if those homes are just for decoration or have people in ‘em.”

Sam nodded his agreement, and they set off. Thirty minutes later they were walking down the street, eyeing the ranch houses on either side of the road. They split up, each taking a side while remaining close enough to see the other.

Sam walked up the first driveway, noticing the lack of lights. He stepped up, overlooking the twist in his gut, and knocked. There was no reply. He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and tried again. This time there was no change at all in the darkened home, and even when he strained his ears he couldn’t hear a peep from inside. 

Giving up, he walked back down the drive and moved on to the next house. And the next. And the one after that, and the one after the one after that. By the time they’d canvassed the whole town, it was already dark, and their stomachs were rumbling. The only buildings left were a derelict warehouse outside of town and the church, the former of which was the only structure that had appeared on the map when Sam’d been researching. 

They made a unanimous decision to head back to the dinner, which was open even at nine-thirty at night. They were still the only customers, and Dorris looked pleased to see they hadn't left town yet. She handed Dean a beer as they sat down, predicting his order.

“Same as earlier dearie?” She asked pleasantly.

Dean waved her off, winking, “Nah, just two burgers. This kid needs his red meat.” 

Sam groaned at his bothersome sibling, but nevertheless, ate the food when it arrived. He did, however, make a disgusted face when Dean moaned energetically whilst he bit down on his burger, sending judging glares his way. The burger tasted a little bit off, but he shrugged it off ‘cause, hey, he didn't usually eat meat. 

When they finished their mini feast they headed back to the motel, feeling drained. Dean got ready for bed first, then proceeded to conk out immediately. His light snores filled the room as Sam prepared himself for sleep. Soon after he followed his brother's path to unconsciousness, flopping down and stretching out his legs, which barely fit the bed. He was out in seconds. 

His dreams were fraught with nightmares hiding behind the facade of peaceful fantasy, twisting even the happiest scenarios into horrible renditions that would bring him to his knees. He felt himself try to scream but his throat was too dry, and the result was him choking awake to a pitch-black room. He gasped for air, taking short, deep gulps of oxygen till he was no longer suffocating. 

His body shown with sweat, his breath was wild, and his heart pumped erratically, trying to escape its meaty confines. While he waited for his eyes to adjust he listened for Dean’s sporadic inhale and exhale, hoping it would calm him. The second he could hear over his heartbeat, he noticed Dean’s breath was to perfect. It was smooth and unlabored in the way only true unconsciousness could bring. 

He turned his head towards his brother, whose sheets were mussed up in a way that suggested he’d fought back. When he turned back he saw a figure looming over him, still cloaked in darkness.

He moved for the gun he kept under his pillow, but he was too slow. The person was a great deal swifter. He tried to push them off, but something was making him weak. His brain helpfully supplied an image of him making a face at his burger prior. Internally he cursed his trusting attitude. Outwardly, he was losing the battle, and fast. His muscles strained against the weight of the person, who had now climbed on top of him. They brought a sickly sweet smelling rag to his face, and he felt himself slipping. 

The last thing he heard before lights out was a voice whispering, “Goodnight dearie.” Then darkness. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconsistencies in the past tense and present tense in the first chapter, that's something I'm working on being better about. Hope ya'll are enjoying the story thus far.

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates to; "Cleanse that which is unclean"


End file.
